


Allow a Little More Light

by Tonko



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7670977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonko/pseuds/Tonko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian is accustomed to wanting things he isn't allowed to have, and to letting himself be used to get a little of what he wants. Lavellan doesn't know that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allow a Little More Light

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by, but isn't a fill for, [this prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13275.html?thread=50855643#t50855643). Rather than the "penetration as dominance" angle, I thought "what if Dorian was used to bottoming in order to get sex, but isn't a big fan of it". 
> 
> The dub-con in this fic is a situation where Dorian bears something he doesn't want to do because it's how things go in his world. Nothing too rough happens here, though you could infer that rather worse things happened in the past.
> 
> This fic contains dialogue quoted from or paraphrased from the game; that is Bioware's, not mine.
> 
> Beta by the massively patient [printfogey.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/printfogey/profile) Any existing errors are all mine. Please let me know if you see anything!
> 
> And, for anyone who wants a visual aid: [Jase Lavellan](http://i.imgur.com/0gxFNt9.png).

Jase Lavellan had a small, rare smile. He had grey eyes somewhat darker than Dorian's, and skin a shade somewhat more golden than Dorian's brown. His reddish-brown hair was shorn close to his skull, leaving his elven ears prominent and, Dorian soon started to consider, rather elegant. He wielded a bow with deadly skill. His voice was soft, occasionally shy. He listened far more than he spoke, and often felt like a stark contrast to what many might have expected the man leading the Inquisition to be.

That he was an elf... Dorian had taken more than a moment to come to grips with _that_ , after the first meeting. Knowing there were free elves all over southern Thedas was one thing. Seeing them as he had traveled south was another. And Jase was not one of the often downtrodden-looking city elves--there were plenty of those in the Minrathous slums as well--but one of the Dalish, with a watchful demeanour and a dark blue tattoo curling around his left eye socket.

Meeting him at the Redcliffe Chantry, leading his little group with pensive and unconscious authority, had been startling. All the better there'd been some demons to fight before they'd spoken properly.

And then, after Dorian had ever so heroically intervened to save him from the time spell, he had seen Jase steadfastly press on through the broken future that Alexius' mad grief had sent them to, seen him come face to face with the wrecks of people who were his friends in the present, and then wait, clenched and trembling, while they held the line and died so that Dorian could finish the spell to return them to their own time.

As a result, Dorian's estimation of the man had settled on quite high, right from the start. It was an odd, twisted privilege to have watched him go through that horror, his narrow shoulders slumping, then repeatedly squaring up as he pulled them onward and through. Dorian knew, firsthand, the strength inside this man.

That determination of his was enfolded in a soft-spoken charisma, and put together, it had made Dorian's desire to stay with this Inquisition affair feel worthwhile, like it--and he--may actually matter, in the end.

And when Jase had looked at him, thanked him, asked him to stay on, Dorian had felt trusted, even if only by one person among the fledgling Inquisition.

For Dorian's presence here was unwelcome to many. 

A credit to Commander Cullen that most of his rank and file were too disciplined to show open dislike, but they weren't the only ones with opinions about "the 'Vint", and at Haven, people spitting after he passed and all the dark looks had been somewhat... wearing. He'd withdrawn to the books, for the most part, and, for good measure, cultivated his presence to offer anyone who needed it reasons to dislike him personally, rather than because of factors he could not control. Effusively stroking his own ego and overindulging his tendency to complain theatrically about minor inconveniences seemed to have served well enough to gradually transform him from the Evil Tevinter Magister to the Spoiled 'Vint Brat instead. 

Jase treated him as neither, though, and apparently actually wanted him here. And so, Dorian quite liked him. Rather a lot, in fact. 

Far more than was wise, given the circumstances. 

Not terribly much of an issue, though, in fact quite standard for him, to be attracted to someone when it was exceedingly unwise to express it. He had learned not to flirt unprompted. One could not ever assume anything, if one wanted to avoid public shaming--or much worse. There were tells to watch for, and signals to send, but while Dorian could not help but watch for them--and he did not observe any--he curtailed his own reflex to probe subtly outward. He instead simply put another mental chalk mark on the tally of "men Dorian Pavus has foolishly become attracted to" and got on with his work. There were plenty of books to pore over, including, despite his aggravation at the poor selection of foundational Tevene texts, many volumes from the south he had never seen before.

It was no more than he was used to, staying silent on such a matter, and here it was more important than ever before to curb his desires in favour of keeping someone's positive regard. Jase _wanted_ him to stay, to help. Dorian would not give him cause to change his mind. He could admire from afar.

And in the months after their harrowing time in the nightmare future, watching this man work tirelessly to repair the cracks in the world, he knew it was worth it.

After the destruction of Haven, after Jase had been upraised from Herald to Inquisitor and leader of them all, as they'd all settled into the mountain stronghold of Skyhold, that was when Dorian realized they had become friends. 

Aside Rilienus, years ago… then Felix and Maeveris… there had been so few. 

But now, whenever Jase's narrow frame appeared at the edge of the nook Dorian had appropriated in the Skyhold library, Dorian's smile spread without any effort. Every time Jase had more questions about something Dorian knew, Dorian was thoroughly pleased, even eager, to expound upon it, and to his ongoing delight, Jase was ever an avid listener. 

Conversely, he held a great deal within himself. Dorian had known that from the start, seeing his restraint and determination descend over strong reactions. 

It was driven home just how much when, some weeks after Skyhold had at last settled into its own routines, news came that Jase's clan was no more. Some atrocity had happened far away in the Free Marches and Jase was the only Lavellan remaining.

Josephine had gathered and told those whom she decided needed to be informed, requiring utmost discretion and entreating them to keep a vigilant eye on their Herald. 

And yet, outside of a very drawn complexion for a time, and an occasional hollowness to his voice, Jase went on almost as usual. Shoulders squared. Pushing forward. He accepted offered condolences with stiff, polite thanks, and nothing more. His smile became a vanishingly rare sight.

Jase never brought it up himself at all. 

Weeks later, Dorian asked in passing about the meaning of Jase's Dalish mark during an impromptu lecture about the varying dangers of using tattoos as spell runes. 

"Vallaslin," he said, touching the twining navy blue lines absently. "It translates to ''blood writing'. It's a special ink, not actually blood. They're a rite of passage to adulthood, to honour the gods. This one is for Sylaise the Hearthkeeper, but each clan has their own variations for each god. I was seventeen when Keeper--" and he stopped. Just stopped, eyes widening slightly as if in surprise. Dorian blanched internally.

Jase let out a long breath. Dorian struggled with what to do. Apologize? Excuse himself? Dare to touch Jase in some attempt at comfort? At home there were volumes worth of formal platitudes for people to draw on. There was no guessing needed, and grief was always expressed--or at least faked--by proper rote, either in correct words or a socially acceptable amount of weeping.

"Keeper Linnea did mine," Jase finally said. He sighed. "You're supposed to be silent while it's done. If you make a sound, it's a sign of weakness." A distant bitterness flickered across his face.

Then he sat up straighter, pulled the volume he had asked Dorian about in the first place back over to his side of Dorian's small desk, and turned the page. And that was it.

Dorian followed his lead. And continued to do so.

Every time Jase, or a runner with a message, came to request Dorian be part of the Inquisitor's group on a trip beyond the walls of Skyhold to close a rift or investigate a ruin, Dorian jumped at the chance (though he didn't spare anyone his complaints about weather, mud, cold, or other sundry annoyances). 

Those forays caused additional attachments to sneak up on him. Sera and her raucous humour that could coax the odd laugh even from Jase, Cole and his fumbling compulsion to help, Varric who was cousin to Mae's dearly mourned Thorold, and a good fellow in his own right. 

Perhaps not all the Inquisitor's inner circle were friendly with him--or even each other--but all comrades even so. Even he could only have his life saved so many times by Blackwall's stalwart sword and shield or Solas' breathtakingly finely-tuned spells before he had to accept they stood by him in battle as he did them, whether they were surly, disdainful, or suspicious. They need not always agree. They need only fight, together, and possibly save the world.

Not since his best days with Alexius and Felix had he felt like this. Part of a thing bigger than he was. 

If there was that something else stirring in him when he stood at Jase's side, sending lightning and fire out alongside the elf's precisely aimed arrows, or when Jase appeared in the library waving a book about magical theory for laymen at him and asking him to elaborate on chapter four, well. It was enough to be here with him.

Nothing more need ever be said. It didn't. 

Not at first, when the attraction had sparked off the novelty of Jase's kind confidence, and certainly not now when it had been eclipsed by a real friendship.

He had long ago trained himself not to spill such unwanted information inadvertently, even when quite drunk. Not that Dorian was inclined to heart-to-heart sharing at any time, drunk or otherwise. Common interests? Light gossip? Creatively melodramatic complaints? He could go for hours. But his family troubles were of interest to no-one, and so he kindly declined to burden them with it.

And that worked out nicely. For a time. 

Now this _letter_. From his father.

He could simply ignore it. Not go to the requested meeting. Jase had brought him the letter and let him decide.

But beneath his anger was always some sickly little hope. Beneath betrayal and horror and _he tried to **change** me_ was a pleading love for his parents, the same that had refused to die each time he'd been sent away to another Circle after being expelled for misconduct, to the draconian private tutors he'd provoked into quitting, to that expensive academy he had run away from.

He had memories of long ago, before those times, still a little child, showing off his small shaky flames or orbs of electricity for his father, giddy with the smiles and the pride it had earned him. "Very good, my boy." He could hear the words, the warm tone, if he let himself dig the recollection out of the wound it festered in.

He wasn't what they wanted, after all. He had tried to be until he realized he could never become it, and now he refused to. _I know my son_ his father had written in that letter, and Dorian felt grinding anger settle in his bones at the audacity of the words.

So he would go. And if he didn't like what awaited him, he would depart. That was all.

When it was time, Jase made ready to leave as well, without asking him if he wanted the company. Dorian was surprised, then grateful for that, because he would never have requested it of him. For all his infuriated noise to Jase after he'd read the letter, it was mostly dread that hung over Dorian now, even if he was only going to face down some loitering retainer and not in fact riding toward an attempted kidnapping. 

The runner he had requested fetch his horse was waiting, when Dorian came out to the courtyard to leave, and Jase was speaking softly to his own as he checked the gelding's bridle. 

But Cassandra and Blackwall were there as well, mounted up and ready, a sight that made him bristle at first glance, but as he greeted his mare with half a carrot and a stroke down her velvety nose--who knew he could become fond of such a prosaically dull mount as a Forder--he found that he really did not mind having such a sturdy bulwark so close at hand, if one that was as grouchy as it was protective.

The ride out was uneventful. Even the weather was offensively benign, so Dorian didn't have rain or snow or excessive chill to accommodate his mood. 

The other three didn't call attention to his silence. Jase spent the ride mostly close to Dorian, though he stayed quiet after his "are you alright?" was met with a biting "never better." 

Jase only gave him an understanding look which immediately made Dorian sigh, and wrestle irritation down. The man had no idea what baggage was airing out in Dorian's mind right now. He still thought their disagreement lay mainly on Dorian's refusal to comply with an arranged marriage, but that was not Jase's fault. 

While Dorian sat and glared at the reins in his hands, Jase tore off a chunk of the spice bread he had just unpacked and leaned across the gap between their mounts to share it with him. 

Dorian did not have anything like Jase's intense appreciation of all things bread-like, but he took it, and felt marginally better, even if he picked at it so slowly it took him an hour to finish. 

Seeing Redcliffe again was bad enough on the face of it--Dorian had no particular desire to return to the place where his old mentor had betrayed the world--but at least they were not going anywhere near the Chantry. 

They tied their horses, but Jase was the only one who followed him into the inn proper; the utterly and very suspiciously empty inn. 

Then Halward Pavus himself stepped into the dining room of that dingy little Redcliffe tavern, and Dorian's struggling wit and fraying composure failed at last. 

Driven nearly to tears, like a petulant child, venting his anger, all before Jase's worried eyes.

He snapped in all directions, including when defining to Jase just what preferring "the company of men" meant. When Jase asked him to elaborate, softly curious, Dorian was momentarily and furiously incredulous. The Inquisitor was a private man, and a Dalish elf, but he could not possibly be so sheltered as _that?_

"As in _sex_ ," Dorian spat, "Surely you've heard of it." 

Derision crackled through him, far too much of it, and then reason caught up to him, and he knew it was yet another one of Jase's eternal requests for clarification. Jase always dug, always wanted to be sure, and to _understand_.

What Dorian had not expected was for "I've more than heard of it, actually," to come abruptly back, Jase's eyes widening a little on the heels of his own words. Then he'd firmed his shoulders--forging on, as ever--and met Dorian's flushed and agitated gaze with no evidence of shame, none at all. There was only a tinge of shy nervousness in the way his arms stayed close to his sides, hands almost coming together for a moment before dropping back, fingers fidgeting the slightest bit.

Dorian, still furious at being tricked into this encounter, met that revelation with vastly more sarcasm than Jase could possibly have earned, but just now he had so little control over his usual inclination for petty comments that it erupted out by reflex.

At least his father's presence promptly allowed him to direct his anger back in a more appropriate direction.

The revelation about blood magic turned Jase's expression flat and implacable, and then when Dorian grew too overcome to say much of anything, Jase came to his side and quietly prompted him to leave, and so they did.

The fury, and beneath it the grief, and that eternal damned wish that it could have been different, all of it clutched him like a suffocating fist the whole long way back to Skyhold. Jase left him to his silence as before, though his horse again walked alongside Dorian's whenever the road permitted.

Once past the main gate, Dorian handed off his horse and stalked to his quarters to be rid of his traveling clothes, and then, rather than stay trapped in his room, he let his feet walk the now-familiar way to the library, and the nook that was more his space than that bare little room was.

Presently, Jase's padding feet, making noise only because he chose to, kindly forewarned Dorian of his approach to the corner of the library Dorian had claimed as his own, and Dorian was calm enough then to apologize for the entire scene, for his father, for all of it.

"I think you're very brave," Jase said, low and earnest, brow knitting in a frown of worry while he studied Dorian's face, and Dorian was mute for a moment, as much from the praise as the care in it, unable to find a rejoinder. 

"Brave?" he repeated.

"It's not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path." Jase's gaze slanted off to one side a moment before returning to Dorian, catching and lingering on his left shoulder, where it was left bare by his clothing, and Dorian felt a twist in his chest. 

He had seen looks like that before, back home.

Mostly younger men, or at any rate men inexperienced in seeking out other men for sex, unpracticed in more subtle study of an attractive prospect. The looks tended to be embarrassingly transparent, until they learned to better conceal their intent. It was usually flattering, and of course, in upper class Tevinter circles, horrifically poor manners. 

However, Jase met Dorian's eyes again, shy but steady, with a mutual recognition of their shared tastes in bed partners. Perhaps he too was used to keeping his interest hidden until he knew for certain. Dorian had to adjust his estimation of the regard to simply "honest". Jase wasn't trying at all to be subtle or coy in his appreciation, he was just quietly open. 

And Dorian lurched mentally back at the weight of that unadorned look, feeling himself torn within, both towards and away from a still unspoken but very blatant interest. Too blatant. This was not a slum or a whorehouse. There were--people were _right nearby_.

Ingrained reflexes did their work, swiftly smothering the desperate part of him that reached out, the part that never, ever learned. He backed away a step and said something about his plans to drown himself in drink in the immediate future. 

He tacked on an invitation, which Jase politely declined. That was a relief, in a way, yet as he fled the tower, he felt the longing settling in his chest, along with a cold wash of mental exhaustion. 

Going by Jase's look, having discovered that Dorian favoured men, the Inquisitor now wanted to bed the Tevinter mage. He now knew Dorian's _proclivities_ , and the opportunity they afforded. 

Perhaps it wasn't even "bed the Tevinter", the thought occurred, but simply "bed the human". Who knew what opportunities a Dalish elf had to do so.

Well.

Dorian knew he was an excellent specimen. He took great pains to keep himself groomed and he dressed well--not that the South appreciated it properly--so he really ought to take that as the compliment it certainly was. 

Oh, parts of him did, enthusiastically too, a thrill deep within at all the pleasures Dorian could imagine visiting upon that lean elven form. Enjoyment could be had, he knew it. 

If they'd been strangers, there would not have been a moment's hesitation. But they weren't. And sex always changed things. 

It went one of two ways. A brief tryst, a few encounters if lucky, just the one if not, and then one participant was done with the affair, due to self-disgust or social self-consciousness or simple disinterest for what had gone from pursued to used, and ignored the other going forward. Dorian had been both the victim and perpetrator of this inevitability time and time again.

Alternatively, and mercifully far more rarely over the years, Dorian had foolishly allowed a measure of his attachment to become apparent... and the other grew offended, disdainful, or worst of all, amused.

Friendship always preceded the latter types of disasters, and it did not survive them. 

And still he would find himself… attached. Not just attracted but--he'd imagine, though he shouldn't. 

Just… to go to bed with someone who wanted him to stay there, and sleep, all night. To wake up with a warm presence beside him, arms to surround him, hands that would hold his without pulling free afterwards. To go away with the knowledge that someone would be there when he returned. Vague things. Small things.

His father's tired and disappointed visage rose unbidden and absolutely unwanted to the front of his mind, and he clenched his jaw and moved faster across the grounds.

The Herald's Rest tavern embraced him with bustle and brightness, and terrible ale, and he found a corner to drink in until he wasn't thinking of anything at all. 

*

After that first look of interest, Jase didn't give another sign for some days. Perhaps he thought Dorian was skittish in the aftermath of their trip to Redcliffe, and--indeed, right now, yes. But persistent thoughts now flavoured Dorian's idle moments, some extremely pleasurably.

Idly fantasizing about Jase was not particularly new, but it had changed a little since Redcliffe. Gotten… soft. Comfortable.

Honestly, who sat and daydreamed about reading books in bed together? _Kaffas_. And from a bare hint of nothing more than physical attraction. What a fool he was.

But, in truth, the battle was lost; it was only a matter of time. That longing place inside him fed hungrily on the mere idea of Jase's intimate attention. It grew stronger, pushed outward.

And then he looked up one afternoon to see Jase staring at him over their game of chess, dark grey eyes speculative and faintly eager. He met Dorian's gaze with a little quirk of his mouth. Dorian found himself smiling back, and quickly twitched it into a smirk and a tiny wink. Jase's smile actually widened a moment, but he said nothing, so neither did Dorian, and the game continued, but from that day on, so did the looks. Dorian began to meet them with a gracious nod, making it slightly--and not dishonestly--smug as he observed Jase's eyes wandering a little longer, a little more meaningfully, each time.

It was… painfully slow. It was like being at the Circles all over again, or that horrendous Argent Academy, where one adolescent boy trying to find another to dally with always took a terribly long period of silent negotiation as each had to trust that the other wasn't teasing, planning some humiliation, or simply too scared to follow through.

Painfully, necessarily slow. 

In the field one day, some weeks after the Pavus 'family reunion', Cole was crouched on a warm rock at Dorian's feet watching bees work among wildflowers. There was a tight, tidily stitched seam of lavender thread in a jagged line down Cole's hat brim. Dorian leaned idly on his staff and kept half an ear out for bears, wolves, feral mabari and other sundry wildlife, waiting for Jase and Blackwall to reappear from the ruined Warden camp in the cave nearby.

Jase had looked happy last night. 

He had been watching Blackwall and Dorian set aside their usual bickering while they tried to coax Cole to hand over his hat to mend a tear made during their scuffle with the lyrium smugglers. The tear had made a long strip of brim sag and flap when Cole moved, and aside from looking worse than usual, rendered it a distraction in a fight.

Blackwall had eventually handed over his helm for Cole to wear and Cole had peered closely as Dorian had cut loose one of the ornaments from his robe to obtain materials for repair. He had been threading the needle from the healer's kit with the durable, shiny thread when he had looked up to see Jase's little smile, eyes bright in the light of the camp site's lanterns and their own shared fire.

It wasn't the upturned mouth-corner of their suggestive hints, it was just plain warm contentment, all of them included in the look. Dorian had brandished his threaded needle and grinned. "Behold!" He'd looked over at Cole, who was watching him plaintively from under his ragged bangs and Blackwall's winged helm. "It will be alright," he'd reassured him.

And while the seam's gleaming satin thread didn't exactly match the worn brown leather, Cole's joy made that, and the glaring absence of Dorian's favourite dawnstone serpent from his shoulder, rather irrelevant. "A piece of you, to fix me," Cole said, running a long finger happily along the stitches that closed the tear. "Thank you, Dorian."

"Think nothing of it, Cole."

"Right kind of you, Dorian," Blackwall had added, gruff approval in his voice.

"Have I shocked and scandalized you, Warden Blackwall?" he'd answered, though the sarcasm had less bite than usual.

Blackwall had snorted derisively, but still, over their supper and the light of their fire, the mood between the two of them was unusually cordial. Jase had said even less than usual that evening but the smile had lingered for a long time. 

Dorian could stand to see him happy a good deal more often.

Would it make some difference, perhaps, if he…? Desire leaned heavily against his better judgment, against his foreknowledge of what always happened after, but, perhaps if only for a while...

Cole spoke, earnest and encouraging. "You wait and worry and wonder. He was in good hands once. You will be too."

Dorian looked down to see Cole bending a flower carefully by the stem towards a bee that had fallen to the ground and was struggling to rise from a tangle of grass. "I see." He didn't, quite. Dorian, like everyone, couldn't always parse the spirit's peculiar insights, but they were never meaningless. 

Not so many days later, once they had all returned, Dorian dug once again into the backlog of research, and looked up after some hours to see Jase waiting patiently for him to finish annotating. Dorian smiled in greeting and reached out to receive the volume Jase had come to return. He fished out the next one in exchange, then paused, tapped the spine of the book against his mouth to cover the breath he took, and he said, "so, am I to understand you like what you see?" He held out the book and acted out what had worked in the past. Confident mien, a sideways smile with more than a little smirk in it. Roll the bare shoulder slightly and lean back in invitation. 

And--Maker, he'd struck gold. Jase's face lit up in a sweet and wholly satisfying way, excitement glowing off of him for a moment before his usual reserve gathered it in again. "I do, yes," he said, his small smile still warming his voice. 

Certain as Dorian had been--more than almost any time before this--that an open overture would not be rebuffed, he still felt the same inner tremble of relief as always. 

Jase really was interested.

"Hmm," Dorian maintained his smirk and wandered his own gaze down and up Jase's lithely muscled body, his relief easily flowing back into restrained desire. 

Jase, like most elves, had a slighter build than most humans, and usually appeared very slim next to most human men, including Dorian, even though Dorian wielded no heavier weapons than magic and a staff (albeit with graceful ease _and_ exquisite flair, thank you--his own muscle definition was still enviable, and quite functional).

But Jase's narrow shoulders and arms were deceptive in their leanness; Jase wielded a longbow, and he was no slouch with knives either. Dorian might be able to set things on fire at forty paces, but he couldn't hope to pull a bowstring draw weight of nigh on a hundred pounds.

Jase also went barefoot, here now in the library, and indeed any location else he could. Were it possible, Dorian was sure, Jase would do as Solas did, and make use of a little magical temperature buffering to eschew boots at absolutely all times, even over jaggedly frozen ice or blistering hot desert sand. As it was, Jase wore them only as a last resort, and removed them as soon as he could. Dorian ought to be revolted by that, he had been privately thinking from the start, thoroughly put off by those tough-soled feet that were often grimy with the dust or dirt of whatever surface they stood upon, but he wasn't. Perhaps his mind had simply included it in the exoticism of a Dalish elf. 

Watching those agile feet brace on the ground, toes spreading just slightly to dig in before Jase loosed an arrow--well, it was a unique thing for Dorian to find appealing, to say the least. 

Dorian found all of Jase appealing. And the man would have him, for whatever purpose. So Dorian needed to demonstrate his regard, it was past time. 

He would show him, in detail. Well enough to exhaust him, if he could. When there was a bed to use, and Dorian did well enough, his companion usually fell asleep after, and he could remain, at least for a little while.

"I dare say I like the view as well," Dorian told him, dropping the register of his voice just slightly and adding a faint growl. 

He was rewarded, unexpectedly and charmingly with a flush across Jase's cheeks. His smile even widened a touch. He didn't preen, not like Dorian would have, but his hands came together in front of him with a little fidget. Fondness flooded through Dorian with a warmth totally different from the heat of desire, and the bitter part of him, the one that actually learned from experience, dug in with claws of warning.

Too late for that now. He would live with this mistake.

He strode forward, the movement ungraceful and telegraphed, as usual at this point in the negotiation, to permit the other party to express any last-moment misgivings or rejection. Usually a short distance, always so terrifying.

But Jase met him halfway, and melted against his mouth into a firm, deliberate kiss. Dorian felt strong fingers tuck around a couple of the belted straps that decorated his clothes, pulling and keeping them pressed together. Dorian cupped his elbows, smoothed up his arms over the tunic that covered lean muscle, and opened his mouth slightly, an invitation. Jase took it, tongue meeting his in a smooth caress. Dorian kept himself to equally restrained response, just tasting, finding the traces of mint from the tea Jase liked and the honey he kept drowning his bread in.

Jase ducked away first; Dorian felt lips quirk against his before they separated and when they drew apart, Jase's eyes were bright with mirth. His hand rose to touch his own upper lip. Perhaps he really had not bedded a human man before, or at least not one with facial hair.

"Different, is it?" Dorian inquired with a low chuckle, raising his own hand in turn to smooth his mustache back to its proper look.

"Yes," Jase confirmed, that shyness creeping back to flush across his cheeks, but his gaze didn't waver at all. "I like it."

Dorian felt warm everywhere, fairly alight with the desire to touch, to crowd back in and press himself against Jase and--hold him. It wasn't even lust, it was--he grappled his thoughts down, barely, and watched as Jase watched him back, that shy eagerness in his eyes. Dorian put his hands behind his back, puffed out his chest. "Naturally," he declared.

Jase stepped back, and sighed regretfully. "They want me at the war table," he said. "I was just passing by."

"Here I thought we were getting to the good part," Dorian teased. 

"Still to come," Jase replied, mouth twitching as if at the daring of those words.

"I should hope so," Dorian murmured. Jase reached out, fiddled a moment with one of the buckles on Dorian's chest, then nodded firmly before heading off, vaulting as he usually did over the rail to drop soft-footed into Solas' rotunda and dart out into the Great Hall with a brief hello to the mage. 

Dorian leaned over the rail to watch him go, and his gaze was arrested by Solas', far too close below him on the scaffolding, paints and brush in hand, and giving him an assessing stare.

He froze there, face to face with the strange, brilliant elven mage who had thus far very coolly rebuffed all of Dorian's tentative conversational overtures, out of explicit disdain for the state of Tevinter.

And the disdain was very warranted, Dorian understood this even better now than when he had left, fleeing one small part of the entire foul system. He saw more of what was wrong now than he had then. 

But Solas' opinion of him had never noticeably altered, and Solas, like all Jase's odd collection of companions, cared quite a lot for their Herald, even if he cared for few of the rest of them. If he… said something, or had a mind to interfere...

Solas held Dorian pinned with narrowed eyes for a long moment, then merely raised an eyebrow. "If you had anything to fear from me regarding this, I assure you, you would have known well before now," he said, then descended the ladder to the rotunda floor again, and spared Dorian no more attention.

Dorian straightened upright, feeling unstable and harried at the same time, and cast a wary glance around the library to see if anyone _else_ was watching him.

Helisma wasn't, her head bowed over her most recent set of notes. Lathien was not either, still seated and sorting among the opened crates of books that had most recently arrived. Ignace, however, was looking right at him from across the tower, and Dorian felt the internal lurch of sour fear at being caught out that he hated so much, the kind that always curdled into impotent anger later, because why must he be made to feel that way? But the old Orlesian mage's expression was a benign, lopsided grin. 

The surge of anxiety was abruptly undercut, and Dorian hurried to cover the uncertainty on his face with a haughty raised eyebrow, and forced his chin up--in defiance of what, he didn't really know.

Ignace's shoulders shook with a laugh too low for Dorian to hear, then he mercifully looked away, eyes returning to the manuscript he was copying. Dorian retreated to his alcove, and dropped heavily into his chair, heart racing.

A quiet, unfamiliar clinking sound on his chest made him clap his hand there and look down, and he discovered a key, hung on one of the buckles. He recalled suddenly Jase fidgeting there before he'd departed, and freed the key, staring at it in his hand.

For Jase's quarters, past that unassuming main hall door. Tonight, then, after Josephine released him from whatever she had planned for the latest noble delegation.

Eager, daunted excitement kindled in him, many of the fantasies he had had sliding to the forefront of his mind, and he leaned back in his chair, much more contented now, to think on what the evening could bring. 

**

Dorian attended the usual communal evening meal in the dining hall. Jase was there too, had given him a nod as he entered, but was trapped at the high table between nobles on either side and Josephine in front of him, and looked very… blank, most of the time, eating and speaking with mechanical politeness. Dorian silently commended his patience. 

He himself found a fine temporary distraction when Cassandra took the empty seat between him and the end of the table. After a muttered greeting she ignored him utterly while trying to surreptitiously read a book under the table as she ate. Dorian magnanimously pretended he noticed nothing, and meanwhile read as much over her shoulder as he could. The prose was wonderfully terrible, even worse than _Swords and Shields_ , and just as explicit.

Afterwards, he bathed, ensured meticulously that he was clean and groomed, applied his razor where it was needed, and wished dearly, not for the first time, that his collection of scents had been able to accompany him south, for this as well as for the mere comfort of having them available. The faintly herbal soap everyone was issued at Skyhold was inoffensive, but hardly very exciting.

He looked down at himself, examined his naked body, satisfied he had done the best he could with the resources available. He flicked away an errant speck of shorn hair, then found the jar of slick salve. It was the one luxury he had brought from home, if accidentally, as his furious rush to flee his father's plan hadn't had him packing very logically.

This stuff was better for his current purpose than the magicked slick most every mage learned to produce in early adolescence. That served its purpose well enough, but tended to dissolve out of existence before half an hour had passed, and Dorian needed something that could linger rather longer.

He unscrewed the lid and was glad to see it looked as it ought, even after all this time. He gathered some on his fingers, rubbed his thumb in it to test the consistency. Perfect.

Dorian didn't particularly expect Jase to be rough, but he had been surprised in the past by quiet ones being hasty or positively vicious while fucking, and he was not a fan of pain or blood, least of all his own. 

Besides, it had been ages. He hitched a knee up and reached back. He stretched himself well and carefully. For all that this was not particularly his taste in activities, it was a near certain requirement if one wanted to please, and for Jase, he wanted to offer everything. 

Dorian dressed, choosing one of his less complicated outfits, and then eyed the door, anticipation and nerves mingling in the heady way they always did before a planned, rather than stolen, encounter. 

He moved down the night-quiet halls wondering if he would find Jase in his quarters now, or end up waiting for him there instead. Enough hours had passed since the evening meal that even if Jase had been roped into further glad-handing of the visiting dignitaries, it was likely over now, though Dorian had been recounted exasperated tales of Jase getting trapped with visitors into the wee hours.

When the key Jase had left him turned successfully in the door, Dorian took a breath and opened it.

He listened, but it was not until he reached the top of the stairs and saw Jase bent tiredly over his writing desk that he was even sure he was there at all. He was barefoot, of course, and he'd changed from his 'make the Dalish elf presentable' finery into a faded blue tunic, unbelted, and grey leggings. It all looked very comfortable, and very easy to remove. 

Dorian filled with anticipation as Jase turned to face him, and saw the day's weariness on his features fading to a pleased and distinctly hungry look. Dorian summoned a predatory tone and stalked towards him.

"It's all very nice, this little back and forth of ours," he said. "I am, however, not a nice man."

"I disagree with that wholeheartedly," Jase murmured, and Dorian almost faltered in his momentum at the quiet words, but rallied.

"Well, I thought perhaps we might dispense with the smouldering looks and move on to something a little more… physical."

Jase nodded, a single tuck of his chin inwards, the start of a smile pulling at his mouth, and sidestepped playfully as Dorian neared so that they circled each other a moment, as if the mutual sizing up had not long passed.

"People will talk, of course," Dorian reminded him, as flippant as he could manage, "not that they aren't already." The Inquisitor's friendship with the Tevinter mage was ever a scandal to someone or other, even after all these months, whether or not people assumed Dorian had seduced him already. 

Jase gave a small, amused shrug. He stopped moving and Dorian drew near, slid behind to reach for his hips and came to a halt pressed against his back. Delightfully, Jase leaned back against him. "I suppose it really depends," Dorian lowered his voice, let his cheek brush the point of Jase's ear as he tilted his head close, and gave Jase a firm tug back against him, "Just how scandalous would the Inquisitor like to be?"

Jase only twisted in his arms, cheeks reddened and eyes alight. He closed his fist around a handful of Dorian's shirt, and pulled.

The kiss was not light, like the one in the library. It was not rough, but it was hungry. Dorian found himself holding Jase's hips for balance as Jase slid his other arm up to smooth his hand over the shaved area on the side of Dorian's head, fingers sliding back and forth against the short hairs before moving behind, keeping Dorian near as Jase drew back enough to look at him.

"I was waiting for you," Jase told him, gaze steady above his spreading blush. "I was thinking of you." He rose up a little on his toes, so they were eye to eye. "I do that often," he added, which ignited something ravenous in Dorian's belly. Jase kissed him again, and Dorian fairly clung to him, felt his fingers digging in. 

He got a hold of himself, and let go to instead gather the loose cloth of Jase's tunic up in his hands until he found the lower edge, and then slid his hands up underneath. The shock of someone else's skin under on his palms after so long was delicious, and it was _Jase_. Dorian wanted to wrap around him, to curl up and _stay._

Never mind. First... 

Dorian turned them both, opened an eye to check, and pushed. Gently, then more firmly as Jase allowed himself to be propelled back until he fetched up against the side of the desk. Dorian lifted the edges of that soft tunic, and when Jase obligingly raised his arms, he pulled it up and off, letting it fall to the side. He exhaled with an audible hungry noise at the bare chest before him, and sank to his knees.

He hooked fingertips into the waist of Jase's leggings, and stared up, taking in the chest and shoulders just above him, lean and so strong. Scars trailed here and there. Most were old and light, though the ragged rope of healed tissue down his side was an ugly one, both in how it twisted Jase's skin there and in the way it made Dorian revisit the hopeless aftermath of Haven. 

Even after Jase had miraculously found them, and collapsed outside camp, that wound had already bled so much that it had soaked his armour on that side with frozen blood. Dorian, keeping his vigil over the mortally wounded Chancellor, had had a far too good view of the exhausted healers' frantic work to keep him breathing. Then there had been the waiting, all of them waiting, to know that the Herald had not fought and struggled and finally reached them just to die.

Dorian shied from his urge to touch it, and from his desire to press his face against Jase's belly and cling for a moment against the memory of that entire ordeal. Not his place.

He only slid a hand up, flat, feeling the slight dips and rises of Jase's muscles and rib cage. He circled a thumb firmly over one nipple. It hardened under his touch, and Jase made a eager noise. Very nice. "Do you like that?" Dorian purred. "A mere trifle." Indeed, Jase's breath was caught, he was watching and waiting. Oh, he knew what Dorian intended, and when Dorian tucked his fingers back into the waist of the leggings, sliding them around to the front to tug loose the laces, Jase licked his lips. The red on his face was spreading out, down his neck, and one hand went back to grip the edge of the desk.

The other touched Dorian's cheek, traced up around his eye, back again along his hairline, a feathery touch, almost ticklish.

Dorian wanted to lean into the touch, like a cat. Instead he made himself give a leer, raising an eyebrow in wicked implication, before tugging the leggings partway open. They were snug enough that they continued to cling, but Dorian had the access he wanted.

"Why, Inquisitor," he murmured. "No smalls. Whatever could you have been thinking?" Jase's erection had been tenting the thin fabric already, the tip leaking a damp spot onto the cloth, but now Dorian could take him in hand. Jase's cock filled his palm comfortably, almost fully erect, the silken foreskin still drawing slowly back from the head. Jase had bathed recently too, he smelled clean, and like that damned herbal soap. 

Dorian stroked the length of him lightly, taking in the shape as he pressed his nose to the base. Elves grew no beards, but there was hair here, if less, and finer and softer than most men Dorian had been with. He inhaled, finding Jase's smell, a lightly musky tang he suspected would grow much stronger soon enough.

Dorian drew back and took him into his mouth, earning a first jerky thrust and a rough, stuttering "Oh-hh" from overhead. He took a moment, tasting the slightly more bitter variation of Jase's scent as his tongue slid over the slit to collect the precome there, letting his hand enjoy the hot, silky skin of the shaft. His thumb traced the vein on the underside, followed it up until he touched his lower lip, and then he sank lower to let his tongue take the return path. 

He did not rush, and kept the slide of his tongue just a bit less than firm, maintaining a soft give to it that Jase seemed to like, if the way his breathing had sped up was at all telling. Dorian thought this was going rather well. He pulled ever so slowly off, then blinked smugly up at Jase, who was half lidded and staring intently back. Dorian lowered his chin a little, openly feigning coyness, then reached for Jase's wrist and placed his hand on his head. 

"At your pleasure, Inquisitor," Dorian reminded him, felt fingers curl in his hair--yes, that was more like it. Jase didn't tighten his grip, though, nor push him down to continue, which was a little unusual, but the groan when Dorian took the initiative was just what he liked to hear.

Indeed, rather than do much of anything to control Dorian's movement, or fuck his mouth at all, Jase kept mostly still, his hand sliding through Dorian's hair, down over the shorn area on the side then to the back or the top of his head where the hair was longer, to sink in and brush through. Rather nice, it was, different from being pushed this way or that. Vigorous direction had its own particular appeal, but this was wonderfully distracting, to be caressed so. Yes, it was indeed... Dorian pulled off again to mouth gently down the side of Jase's cock, eyes closed to better feel the fingers dragging over his scalp, strangely sensitized to the heat in Jase's fingertips. 

He felt each slight movement leave a trail in its wake, felt Jase's palm brush the shell of his ear and again had to restrain himself from leaning into that warm hand. 

He gathered his focus back and continued lower, hoping his lapse hadn't been apparent, and give proper attention to Jase's sac, which had Jase's hand twitching on his head in a very satisfying manner--though still declining to actually grab and control him--and some pleased gasping above. But before Dorian could take Jase's cock back into his mouth again, Jase said "wait," and pushed him away. Dorian looked up, quelling his stab of fear-- _was I not good enough?_ \--and giving Jase a petulantly surprised expression.

Jase's eyes were heated, though, easing Dorian's worry. "Were you planning to stay clothed for this?" he asked, plucking at his collar.

"Indeed not," Dorian acknowledged, and rose smoothly to his feet, slipping free of his boots. Once those were gone, though, Jase caught him again for a kiss, lightly, then again, more deeply, apparently disregarding any taste of himself in Dorian's mouth. Jase leaned and Dorian realized he was being pushed this time, so accordingly moved backward until the bed hit the back of his knees. 

Jase didn't reduce his slow yet inexorable momentum, so Dorian let himself sit and then fall back, sinking a little into the layers of blankets and the pleasantly firm mattress beneath. Jase followed, catching himself on his hands and dipping gracefully down to resume the kiss, very nearly without stopping. Their legs intertwined, and Jase arched down against Dorian's thigh in an emphatic grind. He was heavier than Dorian would have guessed, with his narrow shape and lean muscle, _dense_ in a very welcome manner, and Dorian clenched his fists against Jase's bare sides at the pure sensation he so adored of being blanketed by another man's body. He bent his free leg for the leverage to push back, heedless of the precome that had to be staining his clothes, Jase's weight bearing down beautifully against his own cock, even confined as it was. 

Despite Jase's words, Dorian was not in the ideal position to finish disrobing, so he opened his hands to rub downward over Jase's back in the meanwhile, pushing his palms into the slowly moving muscles, and slid his fingers under the leggings still mostly covering Jase's ass. 

Cooperating, gradually, with Dorian pushing them down, Jase at last managed to kick them off, and then Dorian reached to yank at his own breeches. "Ah." Jase's voice was low and eager with realization, and Dorian suddenly had a great deal of help getting undressed, was bared below the waist and his shirt open in short order. Jase settled back between his legs, hands planted to keep his upper body raised as he resumed his slow grind, the sensations all grandly more vivid with skin on skin, and seeping precome starting to impart its own natural slide.

Jase had his eyes closed now, bottom lip sucked a little bit in and such concentration in the set of his features that Dorian just wanted to watch, hold on, and revel in it all. He gave himself some long seconds of indulgence, meeting Jase's rolling hips with his own, and when the urge to reach up and trace the Dalish tattoo around Jase's left eye started to overwhelm, he reached between instead. He brushed fingertips over Jase's nipples, then lightly pinched as they firmed up, and got a long breath of pleasure for his efforts. He curled an arm around Jase's back and pushed himself up on his elbow so he could bend his head and land a sucking kiss on one, relishing the slow writhe that got him in response. He applied his teeth, just gently. Jase made a growl in the back of his throat that shot straight to Dorian's cock, and arched against Dorian's mouth. "I like that," he gasped.

"So it would appear." No need to feign aroused self-satisfaction there.

"Just--lightly again? Just like--nnn," Jase's words failed him as Dorian delicately bit a second time, and he bore his hips down against Dorian's in a way that made him suspect they may be moving on to other things very soon. But this could continue a little while longer. Dorian smiled against Jase's chest, running a soft tongue over where his teeth had touched the taut, erect nipple, then shifted to attend to the other, Jase's breathing became heavy in his ears, culminating in a quiet but emphatic sputter of what sounded like broken off elven cursing.

Once allowed a moment of respite, Jase swallowed and looked down at Dorian with a breathless, flushed expression. He leaned down to kiss him hard, reached between them to rub the heel of his hand pleasantly along Dorian's cock, down until he could curl his fingers around Dorian's balls. But then he paused in surprise, and his fingers slid lower, stroking across the slippery skin there.

Ah, time was up. Dorian adjusted his raised leg, spreading himself a little wider open, felt Jase's fingers slide down and caress his still nicely readied asshole. "You--prepared already?" Jase asked him, and the flare of lust was very plain, the little gasp and widening eyes, and oh, he did very much want it. Dorian smiled back, with only a little effort. 

"Call me an optimist." He injected a roughness into his voice, and that had Jase dropping down for a kiss hungry with a harder edge of arousal. 

Then he pulled off, rose to dart to the nearby night table. Dorian took the opportunity to shed his shirt fully and sit up, surprised to see Jase pull a bottle of his own oil from a drawer. When Jase turned to face him again, he leaned back on one arm, other hand idly stroking himself. He watched and felt Jase's eyes slide avidly down his body, the gratification from that feeling warmer than normal. "Now, how would you like me?" 

"What do you like?" Jase returned, pulling the stopper from the bottle as he sat on the bed again. _Just as we were before,_ Dorian thought, and didn't look back down at the bed. He let that idea fade back in favour of the task at hand, and eyed the ornately carved headboard speculatively. He moved to kneel before it, reaching out to give it a yank. It ignored his grip. Solid and surely expensive wood. Given the option, having something to good and sturdy to grip tended to be useful in case things got less comfortable. Though if Jase thought they needed still more oil, that was seeming less and less of a concern. He knelt nearly upright, at arms length for a solid grip, with room to turn to one side or the other and bend over if required. 

"This is probably due for a test of durability, wouldn't you agree?" he said, smiling invitingly over his shoulder. "Though I have heard Orlesians craftsmanship is quite sought after when it comes to bed frames." He stroked his chin. "Perhaps we should be wearing masks," he mused.

"I'd far prefer to look at _you,_ " Jase told him, crowding up behind him, his cock a silky-hard line of heat rubbing over one of Dorian's buttocks before it settled between, the head bumping slickly at Dorian's lower back. 

Dorian formed a grin. "That's only natural."

Jase mouthed eagerly at the back of his neck, and Dorian sighed of his own accord at the tingling heat that produced. Then an arm wrapped around his chest, the one with the bottle in hand, and Dorian stared as Jase tilted it, a little shakily, onto his opposite palm. He closed his fist and reopened it, fingers shining with oil. A soft, slightly woodsy scent rose from it, unfamiliar but quite nice. Was it Dalish? Dorian tried to commit it to memory.

Cool air drifted for a moment between them as Jase withdrew to make room, then, rather than using the oil on himself as Dorian expected, those fingers brushed his rear. How thorough of him. 

Dorian adjusted the set of his knees and leaned forward a little more, felt his hands tighten involuntarily on the headboard, edges of the wood biting into his hands. The rest of him stayed invitingly relaxed--he was no novice any longer, clinging white-knuckled and clenched tight from head to toe, but this moment was always just a bit… trying.

Jase traced a thumb down the crack of his ass, then settled his hand and spread him open a little. His oiled finger touched, nudged, and then slipped in, easy and smooth.

Dorian closed his eyes a moment. There. Alright. This was fine. He made an encouraging noise for good measure.

Still, despite his earlier efforts having done much of the work for Jase, and all the heated grinding, Dorian felt little haste in the touch. Rather, it was incredibly deliberate. Jase slid his finger out to next press two fingertips against him, but without pushing them in. Dorian heard the little "mm" of appreciation behind him. He realized suddenly that Jase was enjoying _this_ , now, for some reason, lingering on the preparation, rather than getting on with the goal. He felt a very rare blush flare over his face, tingling heat across his cheeks.

Those two fingers circled and stroked at him, oil-smooth, before sliding in and out with little shallow thrusts. Dorian found it easy enough to rock back against them and give Jase more of what he liked to see. His grip on the headboard had eased, the edges no longer digging into his palms. Deeper thrusts gradually followed, still slow, pressing inside, seeking a little further each time. 

"Ahh… good," Jase said, the appreciation thick in his voice as he played three fingertips around Dorian's asshole, then eased them in. A noticeable stretch, now, some discomfort, but the glide of Jase's fingers soothed it steadily away. Dorian could feel each finger, sensitized and slicked up as he was, and he pictured Jase kneeling there, staring at where his fingers were pressing into Dorian. It sent a brief, wispy prickle of unexpected pleasure over him. "Alright?" Jase asked.

Dorian had no stock answer for that, and found himself simply saying, because it was true, "yes." 

Jase leaned away briefly to abandon the bottle back on the nightstand. He rubbed at Dorian's lower back as he took himself in hand and began to press in, slow, gradual, even though Dorian could feel the arousal in his fingers, stroking shakily over his skin. Dorian closed his eyes and relished that.

He wanted to reach back, take Jase's hand. He wanted to feel Jase's fingers threaded through his own, have him bear down when he started properly fucking, and be able to grip back.

He kept his hands on the headboard.

Jase did not bury himself right away, but began, as with his fingers before, short and shallow thrusts that drove him further in each time, until they were flush. Dorian savoured this part as well, the pause when Jase's body rested against his. Jase was breathing fast now, gusts of it against Dorian's shoulder, palms hot on Dorian's hips, his thumbs smoothing back and forth. What was he waiting for? "Such commendable restraint," Dorian murmured, a little taunt. He rolled his hips, inviting movement, and Jase let out a low, wanting sound, and began a slow rhythm, shifting his angle gradually, seemingly searching for just what suited him best. 

The excess of oil made the sure, even strokes so very smooth, no hardship at all, and best of it, Jase's hands were firmly on him. He could feel each change in grip that echoed Jase's still quite moderate pace, fingers tightening and easing each time, so that Dorian could track the cadence of his pleasure. No doubt of it in his hands or his sounds. 

Dorian was well able to meet each thrust, with what he sensed of Jase's body. He pushed back slightly at first and then a little harder as he adjusted fully to Jase within him. One of Jase's hands left his hip to flatten on his back again, rub, trace the line of his spine, but though Jase's fingers kneaded briefly at the back of his neck, Dorian was not pushed to lower his face to the mattress, nor did Jase reach farther to anchor in his hair.

Rather, Jase's hand spread wide as if to feel the effect of their motion through Dorian's back. 

Dorian was used to producing all manner of noises of encouragement by this time during a coupling, from extravagant dirty talk to ridiculous moaning, but behind him Jase was quietly beginning an ongoing murmur, falling silent only intermittently. Dorian made out little of what he said, mostly appreciative noise and snatches of elven, much of it repeated over and over, and Dorian would not dream of interrupting the stream of soft words, letting them wash over him instead. 

When he caught his name the first time, and on each repetition of it thereafter, it was like his pulse beat in his face, and something tightened for a moment in his throat.

Let it never be said he did not respond to praise. Though never had it come across quite like this.

A slow shift in his own body's responses went unremarked until Dorian realized he was in fact moving with Jase, not simply for him. With the slow oiled slide of Jase's cock came a push and drag of fullness that he was beginning to... anticipate. All mingled with the touch he so wanted on his skin, it was--more, it was--good. It was good. His flagged erection was filling again.

He could enjoy this, he thought with a measure of incredulous relief. He could not only tolerate it, but feel good, like this. Dorian heard himself gasp and sigh, and Jase's hand slid to rub along his side in response, his name repeated yet again in Jase's next sigh of words.

Not too much later, while Dorian was comfortable in the slow sweep upward of his own arousal, Jase felt silent, and did not pick up his warm murmur again, instead there was a mounting urgency in his motion and his grip, which Dorian met in kind. "Come on," he urged. 

With an inarticulate noise, Jase curled down over his back, heat and weight and a shock of wet kisses between his shoulder blades. Movement curtailed by the nearness, the pace grew short, emphatic, Jase withdrawing just enough for Dorian to feel it when he thrust in again.

Then the altered angle hit _that spot_ in Dorian, that little gland, the place he thought he could only find himself, when he got it _exactly_ right. It pushed a surprised noise out of him at the pleasure that bloomed thickly inside, behind his cock, low inside him and spreading down his inner thighs. And it happened again, and again, not with each thrust but every few, and still that was almost too much. He clung to the bed as his body tried to discover precisely where it needed to be, all while Jase was clutching at him. 

"Dorian," Jase's voice was a rough plea.

"The feel of you," Dorian replied without thinking, the words tumbling from him, "oh, it's good. It's _good_."

Jase's thrusts grew stuttery and desperate, with a final few surprising surges of Jase's entire body against his, so that he had to brace his arms or be bucked into the headboard. At last Jase made a tiny, soft noise, shuddered and folded over completely, thighs twitching and his breath panting damply against Dorian's back.

And Dorian found he was stroking himself, could not recall just when he had begun, nor how long it was before he dimly felt Jase's arm slide around his middle. It tucked below Dorian's own and reached down between his legs. Jase palmed Dorian's balls, hand still smooth with a remnant of all that oil, then slid up just as Dorian's hand stroked up, taking its place, wrapping around his cock instead. Dorian heard himself make a sound, and he yanked at the headboard then, fucking into Jase's fist, face and chest hot with need, knees widening and toes digging into the sheets. "Ah. Ah. Please," head down, "let me--"

All of a sudden it wasn't enough--he wanted--he turned and Jase was there, gathering him up. Dorian leaned, pushed, bore him back and down, landing over him, forearm braced beside his head. He pressed his face into Jase's neck and as he groped blindly down to stroke himself, Jase's hand was there too--got there _first,_ oh Maker, and held him--Dorian covered that hand with his own and--

A muffled cry erupted from him as he came, barely aware of anything except the fingers under his that held his cock and the warm body beneath his that was holding the rest of him. He panted, shuddered, didn't move away. Should, he _should_ , but he couldn't. "No, let me, let me," he could hardly think, just begged, "please…"

"Dorian, Dorian, it's alright." Jase was speaking in his ear, only just audible. "Na dar'eth, Dorian. Shh." Dorian felt hands on his neck, soothing over the back of it, rubbing down over his shoulders, touching his jaw. Jase kissed the side of his head, and that, he _could_ do. He dragged his head up, sought Jase's mouth and he kissed him, slow, hard. His broken gasps kept interrupting it, but on it went until he had to drop his forehead to Jase's shoulder. Warm and solid, then his eyes were shut and there was nothing but that, until that too faded away.

**

Dorian woke to a strange muscle-deep fatigue and the silvery bright-darkness of moonlight. He sat up, staring towards the tall windows that lined two walls of the Inquisitor's chamber. Just a bit less than full, the waxing moon was visible out over the balcony, and it spread its light over the floor and the bed.

Steady breathing rose and fell next to him, in the room's quiet.

It would have been perfect, but--he hadn't forgotten. 

His last memory before sleep was of a swell of pleasure muddied with confused desperation and as more returned to him, he had to resist the physical urge to curl up against the nauseating mortification of it. He'd lost all control over himself. It was hideous. 

He looked away from the windows, stared upward at the indistinct ceiling. He had fallen apart, so carried away had he been, and then _fallen asleep in the the man's bed_ without so much as an invitation. Forget being thrown out, he had to leave. Immediately. Even if Jase was so tolerant as to allow him to sleep off his little breakdown, he'd not welcome waking up to the sight of him, the mere imagining of which made something cringe and hurt terribly inside Dorian. 

That clawed bitterness prowled to the fore, coldly smug at his own failure, and the pathetic little wanting part curled tight and secret again.

Biting anger caught at him. _Your fault. He was good and that was all it took for you to lose control, because he was **kind**._ Derision tangled around the entire sensation. Dorian could bear a little rough treatment to get a man's hands on him, but apparently he could not cope with the opposite from Jase even well enough to give him an acceptable end to the encounter. It was appalling.

Better to leave now, best if he was not seen leaving here by anyone after the sun rose.

Dorian stayed very still, listening. Jase's breathing was so close by, not even an arm's length away, but he dared not look, even though he longed to see it. Not that he hadn't seen the man sleeping at any number of campsites, but, here, in his own bed... this was different. It was not for him. 

He shifted slightly, testing, and the mattress was mercifully quiet, though each rustle of bedding seemed terribly noisy nonetheless. He sat up, delicately lifting the blankets away from himself, and put his feet on the floor, wincing at the chill, even through the rug. He was naked, unsurprisingly. He was also unexpectedly clean, a minimum of residue that he could feel, even given what had to have seeped out of him afterwards. Too much, this was too much.

The compulsion to leave was growing, the list and litany of what usually happened next running through his head.

_Thank you. Off with you now. How nice, take care. Very good. Go. Fuck off. Run along. Thanks for that. Get out._

And this was so much worse than 'usually'.

He cast about for his clothes. Nothing was where it had fallen, and he finally spotted his things folded neatly on the settee, boots on the floor below.

As he neared them he heard movement behind him and he froze.

"Dorian," Jase's voice was urgent but sleepy, and the blankets rustled as he sat up. 

Dorian commanded his breathing to even out. He drew himself up, crossed his arms over his chest even though he was still staring at the huge windows, back to the bed. Had to get ahead of it, even if the charade was particularly blatant just now. "Well, that was fun," he said. "Wouldn't you agree?" 

"Fun," Jase repeated. "Dorian, you…" he trailed off, for which Dorian's shuddering insides were abjectly grateful. 

"Perfectly reasonable to--to leave it here, wouldn't you say?" He could bury the mortification as was appropriate and Jase would be free of it, and him.

"No, I… wouldn't say that." Jase's voice was confused. "Are you alright?"

Oh, _no_. Jase, who tolerated so much. But who, infuriatingly, didn't seem to be cooperating with how this was supposed to go, wouldn't allow him to at least maintain a facade. 

Fine, then.

"Not really, no." He looked down at his clothes, so carefully folded. "I was just leaving," he said tightly. Trapped, he was, wanting back in that bed so much that it felt like grief, wanting out of here to drown his deplorable shame in wine. He bent to pick up his shirt.

"You don't have to," Jase protested, and Dorian clenched his fists in the cloth, metal buckles digging into one of his palms.

"You'll find that I do."

"I'm worried about--"

"Spare me," Dorian spat. He could not deal with this. 

There was a beat, then, "If I did something, I'm sorry. It's been… a long while." 

_That_ was funny. Dorian laughed, a curt noise. "You vastly overestimate your ability to 'do something' to me."

"Then what--"

Dorian flung down his shirt and turned. Jase was seated on the edge of the bed, naked as Dorian was. Moonlight washed him in silvery light, along with the softly rumpled bedding. 

"Always questions," Dorian snapped. "You were rather close at hand, were you not? There is nothing to tell. I am merely trying to leave in a manner that affords us both a modicum of dignity."

Jase looked stung, and then his frown sharpened. "I'd prefer if you stayed and offered me an explanation," he snapped back, and Dorian startled at the rare display of even that much temper. But the frustration persisted only a few moments before it drained away and Jase sagged and looked at the floor, elbows on his knees. Then Dorian saw Jase's shoulders firm up, saw him raise his head. "That's--I'm sorry," he said, voice unsteadily calm. He looked away and ran a hand over his head, then covered his mouth a moment. He dropped his hand, faced Dorian and continued, voice briefly hollow before it flattened into something approaching an even tone. "Of course I won't keep you if you want to leave."

Dorian was disarmed of his shame all of a sudden, confusion welling up instead, and found himself taking a step towards the bed. 

Jase fidgeted, sat up straight, slowly moved over enough that two could sit where the blankets were pulled back and Dorian hesitantly made his way over to join him. When he sat, he could feel Jase's body heat across the small space of cool air separating them.

"I apologize," Dorian could not dispel the stiffness in his voice. "I react poorly to… being seen when not at my best."

"You seemed… overwhelmed," Jase said carefully, and Dorian flinched, though he appreciated the circumspect description. 

"Yes, well. Forgive me for that display." Dorian could still see the worry, and he added, "You caused me no harm. Rather the opposite, if you must know."

"Oh." Quiet surprise, and visible relief. 

Dorian watched him, studied the moonlit shape of his face, and Jase let him for a time, then asked curiously. "What is it?"

Dorian didn't know. Which was just it. This hadn't felt like he had expected it would, any of it. Even now at each step it continued to play out differently than he was used to.

"I suppose I wonder where this goes, you and I," he finally said. He didn't think he could presume to predict anything, at this point. If Jase threw him out now, with perfect politeness, he would not be shocked.

But next to him, Jase's body tightened just slightly. Not tense, but certainly waiting. And he did not throw him out. 

"Tell me what _you_ want," was what he said.

"Oh, is that all," Dorian muttered. He pressed his lips together, nervously smoothed his mustache. Always questions. 

And that was one he'd never really been asked, when it mattered. 

The answer loomed too large to express, too forbidden, the _want_ unfurling to lean painfully at the thorny barrier of experience that had grown so daunting to traverse.

"Not all… but at least half," Jase suggested. Dorian granted the point with a tilt of his head. "If you're unsure--"

"No." No, he was sure. But... "At home," Dorian began, hesitated, and went on, "this," his hand drew a line connecting them, "between men, it's purely physical. You might care, in a way, but you don't... hope for more." 

"Always hope for more," Jase spoke softly, faintly chiding, and Dorian felt a grand upwelling of affection and tremendous envy at the same time, for this man who, despite being of an age with him, still felt now the way Dorian had ceased feeling well over a decade ago.

For good reason. He stared towards the windows. "A terribly unwise strategy in Tevinter, personally or socially speaking," he murmured. "One becomes rapidly resigned to seeking the physical instead. Trading favours. A... fucking transaction, as it were."

Jase frowned, and Dorian made a dismissive gesture at the expression.

"This has its benefits and pleasures, rest assured." There was something to be said, wasn't there, for unspoken mutual recognition of needs, and often a near-immediate addressing of them in some hidden spot. No obligations, often no speaking. No attachment. And occasionally, little actual pleasure. "Perhaps not always an equitable trade," he admitted, "One may find oneself at times accommodating others without receiving the same consideration in return..." he leaned his gaze over to Jase for a moment, just briefly meeting now very worried eyes before staring back out the window. "As I said, you did not 'do anything' to me, Amatus. You were… _very_ considerate." 

" _Dorian_ \--" No. No, that was not on. He declined to be _pitiable_.

"Don't," he interrupted swiftly. "Please. Never once was it against my will. Only sometimes against... my better judgement." When was there time, or even reason, to protest in the midst of such brief encounters? Best to forget the unsatisfactory ones and move on.

Jase was staring at him like a strange, worrying puzzle, some kind of understanding now in his eyes that made Dorian feel peculiarly self-conscious. "Was that what you thought this was--a transaction?" Jase asked, and looked very much like he feared the reply.

 _Well, yes_ , Dorian did not say. 

It was beginning to dawn on him that Jase was not equipped to see things this way, even while Dorian had _known_ it, had had it quite literally fucked into him since very soon after he had begun approaching men for sex. He looked at Jase, trying to at least straddle this mental gap and comprehend something of the other side. Jase's expression seemed to indicate he was doing the same. "You must understand," Dorian said, "I've never had examples of anything else with which to compare."

They studied each other. An unhappy suspicion was settling over Jase's features. "Dorian… Did you... _let_ me fuck you?" The coarse word sounded odd in his voice.

Dorian felt a pleasurable afterimage of their activities and a lingering rush of embarrassment at the conclusion. He met Jase's apprehension with some confusion. "Yes, of course," he said. 

Jase looked suddenly ill, and Dorian realized he should have known by now that this answer would not be welcome. He reached for Jase's wrist, fingers stroking over the racing pulse. "I am accustomed to pleasing the one I'm with. It's not my favoured act but--I told you, I've never been unwilling."

"Not your favoured--" Jase blanched. "I want you to be a great deal more than not unwilling!" He wrenched his arm free and dropped his face in his hands, rubbing them hard back over his head then forward again. "Dirthara'ma, Dorian!" 

Dorian struggled to make his expression apologetic enough to match Jase's anguish. "Surely you've done things for a lover just to please them?" he asked, unable to imagine the opposite was true. It seemed oddly incongruous for one with Jase's persistent willingness to go out of his way for others.

"Yes! But he or I always _knew_. We could take it into account--and we could _appreciate_ it." Jase looked heartsick. "It's--it's like a gift, not a lie or a secret or--"

"I wasn't lying," Dorian said defensively.

"I asked if you were alright and--"

"I was! At the start, and indeed vastly better at the end!"

"You--" Jase stared at him with exasperation. His eyes narrowed. "What if I'd hurt you?"

Dorian scoffed. Minutes in, he had known there was little enough risk of that.

"I mean it! If I had, I don't know. Done something worse. Something that was painful for you." Something occurred to Jase and he looked tiredly stricken. "That's why you had already prepared…"

Dorian sat silent under Jase's sad regard. There wasn't anything he could say. _That's how it goes, sometimes_ didn't seem like the desired answer. _It was vastly better than I expected_ was true, but it did certainly underscore the why of itself in a way he was starting to get that Jase would not appreciate.

"I don't _want_ it to be... uncomfortable," Dorian finally said, wondering if that was somehow not apparent. "Make no mistake, I am quite invested in my own pleasure." It wasn't as though he'd never had enjoyable sex. And he of course had always tried to be mindful of the other participant, during a tryst, it was only polite. It was just that not everyone was so well-mannered as he. 

"Well… good," Jase said, but he didn't look quite mollified. Dorian felt a pang of odd guilt at the doubt in Jase's eyes. That… wasn't right. He didn't want that there.

"I can provide more detailed instructions, next time," he offered, words with the phrasing of a jest, but he did mean it.

"You're sure you want a next time?" Jase returned carefully. Dorian startled internally. He'd spoken before he realized what he was assuming.

"I want--" It was a brief struggle with himself to let the words out. "I told you hoping for more was unwise," he pointed out. "Not that I never did. I do want it." There. It was like some chain or tether crumbled away to nothing inside him.

At that, Jase's small smile appeared. "I see," he said, "I'm very glad." 

Dorian felt a measure of tension lift. Oh, but he did adore that smile. 

Jase closed his eyes, and leaned over a little so their shoulders pressed together and Dorian thought, _he's happy_.

Jase was happy, because Dorian wanted--

But--"Now then... what does the other half want?" Dorian asked, wondering if his smooth tone was at all convincing, or if the airy tremble in his chest was audible in his voice. "It's only fair."

Jase let more of his weight rest against Dorian's side, and Dorian dared to reach and rest his arm across his back, palm finding and resting on the ragged scar from Haven's fall. "I want…" Jase said, barely audibly, as if to himself. "I want." Then he was quiet for a few breaths until, "Dorian," he said.

"Yes?"

"More."

Dorian could not put words to the heady joy that filled him then, but that was alright. He turned his head to press his lips against Jase's temple, just above his ear. Jase tilted his head back, so Dorian lowered his. Their mouths met, unhurried and soft.

Slow arousal lit, almost a surprise on the heels of such a fraught discussion, or perhaps not, as Dorian had what he _wanted_ , just here.

"Is _now_ a good time for more?" He inquired.

It seemed it was. Dorian was leaned upon until he fell back, and then Jase was above him again that wonderful weight of his body pressing everywhere as he slid his body to cover Dorian's. Reaching down between them, seeking Jase first, Dorian found him not hard yet, and he warmed and stiffened gratifyingly in Dorian's hand, rocking into his grasp. Dorian's attention was quite riveted by the feel of him becoming erect, so hot in Dorian's hand, tip quickly beading with fine, slippery precome.

Then Jase shifted his weight slightly, slid his knees between Dorian's thighs and resettled so that Dorian could grasp the both of them, together, sliding smooth in his hand, and on the heels of contented lust, wanted to tell him...

 _Yes. Do._ "I quite like this." he muttered quietly, moving his hand with a slow stroke. "Earlier, I would've--just--like this." 

"Gladly," Jase answered. Soft lips pressed to his again, barely parted, but the hint of tongue had Dorian opening under him. Jase moved sedately into his grip, every slow thrust a drag of pleasure along Dorian's cock. His hand, his steady archer's hand, trailing sensation up and down along Dorian's side.

And so it went. They didn't move much, there was no need, Jase stayed that close, covered him with warmth and weight and motion. Presently his agile fingers left Dorian's side, slid between them and against Dorian's hand, just barely guiding, until Dorian let go and nudged him to take over. Jase ran his hand through the generous slick of precome that had pooled on Dorian's belly and then curled his fingers, and Dorian arched up at the touch. A little… "Tighter?" he asked faintly, "I--" Jase did so, and it was just exactly right, just what Dorian needed to sink into the current and be borne onward. He reached up to spread his hands across Jase's back, felt his muscles shifting as he moved. Was anything better than this?

He dug his heels in with an urgent gasp, pushed up into that perfect grip, and came.

The wash of pleasure flooded through him, but he didn't let it carry him too far. He rolled them until Jase was the one on his back, then he shifted lower, put his mouth on Jase's collarbone and tasted his skin there. When Dorian sucked at Jase's nipple he grunted, and when Dorian lightly bit he writhed, and Dorian felt Jase's hand clamp on his shoulder, fingers digging in.

Dorian traced downward with one hand to Jase's smooth thigh, felt his legs open as Dorian slid his hand between them to palm and caress his sac, cupping tenderly and grazing a thumb at the rigid base of Jase's cock. Jase's other hand snagged at his wrist before he could do more than that.

"Here… just--touch," Jase panted, bending a knee, tilting his hips and guiding Dorian's hand so that Dorian could press his fingers to his hole, and with that Jase made a whine of needy relief. Dorian felt Jase's knuckles brushing his arm as he touched himself, a few rapid strokes before made that soft noise again, arched up against Dorian's mouth, and shuddered with his climax. 

Dorian sank down onto the bed next to him, distractedly tugging an edge of one sheet to pat away what he could of the mess. 

Silence stretched, in the moonlit chamber.

"I suppose I'll stay after all," Dorian murmured. Jase huffed and rolled towards him with a smile.

**

Dorian woke with aches in places he hadn't ached in for some time. It was very pleasant. He didn't open his eyes at first, sensing the early morning light that flooded the massive windows with trepidation. That much illumination was completely uncalled for. He pulled the blankets up higher, burrowing slightly under with a sense of aggrieved betrayal. That was far too much sun for any hour of waking up, regardless of the time.

Still… He opened his eyes and found that the view did benefit from all that light. Jase was asleep, half-sprawled in a way Dorian had never seen in the field. Dorian had seen some of their companions take up far more space in much less room--Sera seemed to elongate while sleeping--but Jase was always tidily curled, limbs tucked close. Now he lay face up, open to the room, blankets bunched so that Dorian could follow the line of his body all the way down.

He saw him stretch a little, then his eyes opened halfway. "Good morning," Jase murmured scratchily. He reached over, his hand touching Dorian's head, and when he nudged into the contact, Jase's fingers slid into his hair with a rough caress. Dorian hummed contentedly, and slid back into sleep for a little while longer.

Eventually he emerged again, into a doze first, and then the sun finally defeated him. He peeked and discovered Jase was properly awake. "Might I suggest requisitioning some drapes," he complained, squinting balefully at the brightly lit stained glass at the top of each tall window. "Or one of those lovely four post beds with all the curtains." He trained his ire towards where Jase was sitting up, pillow at his back and a book open against his knees. 

"I like the sun," Jase told him firmly. "We can't all light lamps from a distance."

Dorian rolled onto his stomach and turned his face into the pillow. "More's the pity," he groaned.

And then he heard the chamber door open, and froze, eyes opening again to see very little aside from the pillowcase and a bare strip of Jase's torso. Ought he to--to rise? Hide? ...Leave?

Even as he tensed, he felt Jase's hand settle on his head again, fingers stroking into his hair, and if did not precisely relax him, he did calm, slightly.

"Good morning, Your Worship," the voice, a woman's gravelly Marcher accent, was very quiet, pitched low enough not to wake Dorian, had he been asleep. "I see you have company." 

"Good morning, Anna. Yes, I do." Jase replied, easily as that. He too spoke quietly, allowing Dorian his pretense.

He squeezed Dorian's rigid shoulder, then slid away and rose from the bed. Dorian risked a look and saw him pulling a robe on, then he moved out of sight. Dorian continued to feign sleep. His fingers were tight around the sheet and his heart beat faster, but he kept his breathing slow and even.

"The Ambassador's itinerary for the day, serah," Anna said briskly. "You'll find you have nothing pressing until midday. Don't mind this early tour, the Lady Seeker can take over."

"Oh--very well." Jase sounded a little guilty, and a little amused. Dorian felt a flicker of that himself.

Anna continued, with no change in tone, "And if I'm not mistaken, Serah Pavus is training troops with the Commander, later this morning. Do you know if I ought to suggest it be postponed?" 

Dorian felt a corrosive sputter of panic at having been recognized, then the rest of her words caught up with him. 

Cullen's mixed mage-templar unit was only just beginning to synergize. The request to him that they begin exercises against a Tevinter mage's casting proficiency was not one Dorian would delay. He sat up, charade abandoned. "No--er, Anna. Quite alright. I will be available." He managed to sound relatively casual, he hoped, but he could not stop his hands clenching in the bedding.

The woman was a city elf with iron-grey hair, sharp amber eyes, and a build under her uniform that indicated she was far more than simply a servant, and Dorian wondered if it was Sister Leliana or Cullen who had chosen her to attend to Jase's quarters. Probably the former.

"Understood, serah," she nodded at him, and her eyes lingered for an additional assessing moment; Dorian felt self-consciousness billow unpleasantly through him as he sat there, naked, in a man's bed, before a stranger. Then he was confounded into mere wariness when she added, "You boys linger as you like, no one else will be along short of emergency."

And Jase was smiling as he nodded. For no reason. Just happy, even with someone seeing--this. Them.

That did not fully banish years of conditioned apprehension, but it made it tolerable. 

Anna took her polite leave, to Dorian's relief, and Jase fell upon the breakfast tray like a starving man. Dorian could see that two plates had been provided, and two cups for the pitcher. 

Jase returned to the bed with a single plate piled high, under Dorian's scandalized stare. "Hungry?" he offered, as if he was sharing a portion of toasted bread over a campfire.

"We may have to end this," Dorian said, aghast. "You are getting _crumbs_ on the _sheets_."

Jase waved a roll, dripping with honey, in his general direction, and Dorian recoiled, jerking the blankets up to protect himself. When he cautiously lowered them, Jase bit into the roll with visible relish, eyes bright with humour as he chewed, and Dorian wondered at how relaxed he was. It was striking. 

But messy! "Give me that, you untidy wretch," he reprimanded, diving to retrieve the book Jase had left half under the covers when he'd gotten up. "At least this might be preserved." If it was one of his, thusly threatened by sticky, crumbly breakfast, they would have _words_.

It wasn't. _Storms of Temptation_? "'A sweeping romance on the eight seas,'" Dorian read aloud from the back cover, breaking into a grin as he did. He flipped through and opened a random page. "'Kiel clasped Amethyste to his bare, muscled chest as her pillowy bosom threatened to burst its ties. The elf captain gazed at her with burning eyes, then plundered her mouth with a searing kiss, kindling a hot and fiery lust'--wait!" he laughed. "I think Cassandra was reading this very one under the table last night." 

"Is that so," Jase said, mouth quirking with humour. "The library got a whole crate of books by this author last week. Anonymously ordered," he said, as if mystified.

"Maker, who could _possibly_ have done that." Dorian moved his pillow to set it against the headboard, then settled back. It wasn't exactly _Annallis Disciplinae Cantamini_ , but it would do. "Shall I read aloud?" he offered. 

"Oh, please do. I haven't gotten very far in yet," Jase told him. "But it looks promising."

"We'll see about that," Dorian scoffed, and turned to the first page.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I bet Dorian totally does the voices, too.
> 
>  That book title may be familiar to you as the one lying around on a bench near Cassandra in Trespasser, though I did make up the quote Dorian reads. Obviously this fic is set before Trespasser, but I'm not sure there was a canon publication date so... :)
> 
> [Closing visual aid!](http://i.imgur.com/wYsHRHy.png)


End file.
